


Depth Over Distance

by siriuslymcfly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cliche, Cutest Derek, Derek is Stiles's Anchor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, brief mention of considered suicide, but that is in the past, does this count as that?, shower scene, so much angst wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslymcfly/pseuds/siriuslymcfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew he would crack one day. He just didn’t realise how bad it would be. Stiles had assumed his breakdown would only include his bed and maybe a soaked pillow before he simply got up the next morning and went about life just like he had before. But there, sitting under the spray of the scalding shower, water mixing with salty tears, he realised just how broken he had become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Depth Over Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Eek, this is one of my favourite pieces I've done, so I hope you all like it.. Sorry about the serious angst, I promise the ending isn't as bad :)

No matter how much you try, no matter how much you put yourself in harms way to protect the ones you love, it will always collapse in the end. You can push yourself further than any one person should, past physical boundaries that by crossing causes more harm than good, and past any psychological horrors that should render a normal human being a quivering mess.

 

Stiles knows this. He knows this from first hand experience. Many first hand experiences in fact. And yet, there he was, throwing himself back into it without even a second thought towards his own well being. Because, really, why should it matter? If he can take the brunt of the onslaught that seemed to plague their lives, and stop even just one of his friends from getting hurt, then he’ll do it. He’ll do it because they would do exactly the same thing for him. They had done, on too many occasions to keep count. It seemed being friends with a pack of werewolves was an occupational hazard.

 

This time though, it hadn’t been one of his supernatural friends, with increased healing abilities and ways to protect themselves against what they knew had been coming. It was the one person in Stiles’ life that _he_ constantly placed in mortal danger. The others, they sort of did that themselves, just by being what they are. But his father? There was no reason for him to be involved in anything remotely supernatural except for the fact _Stiles_ was. If Stiles wasn’t seen with the pack; didn’t smell like them, didn’t spend every waking minute with at least one werewolf, then maybe -just maybe- his father would be left out of the world that he had no idea about. But Stiles couldn’t stay out of it. He couldn’t do that because he had some innate _need_ to place himself in situations where he was likely to either get himself or another innocent human killed, just because it could save someone else he loved. His life had turned into a constant battle between saving his friends, or his father. Neither came without the other, and it was starting to feel like he was choosing between two different family members. Because that was what the pack was to him. The pack was family, just as much as his father was. And Stiles was raised to protect family above all else. After all, he learnt from the best. That had been his father’s founding inspiration for joining law enforcement in the first place.

 

But there is always a time when you push yourself so far beyond the boundaries that even the most stubborn of people are not able to reel themselves back in.

 

Stiles had reached that point.

 

His father had been taken into hospital that afternoon, following a hostage situation on the outskirts of town going wrong. He didn’t know the details, all he knew was that his father had stepped in front of one of his own when a bullet was fired. And it killed Stiles that he couldn’t even be angry at his father’s actions, because it was exactly what he would have done. It was exactly what he did, on an almost monthly basis. And when he couldn’t feel angry, he couldn’t feel anything. Everything was numb. He sat alone in a chair down the hall from the main waiting room, not even attempting to occupy his time with anything except his own thoughts. He hadn’t told the pack what had happened, but he guessed they would hear soon enough. Melissa McCall was on duty, she’d probably tell Scott.

 

But no one came. Stiles sat in that chair for what could have been hours, or merely minutes, lost in the furthest recesses of his mind where only the most painful and wonderful memories were kept, well out of reach for day to day life. His mother lived on back there, alive in what Stiles could remember of her. They may be distorted and unreliable, but they were all he had. And he clung to them while he waited. He couldn’t be alone while he listened to the clock tick and the gentle hum of people elsewhere in the building. He was only dragged out of them when a doctor approached, pulling off those plastic gloves as she did. He stared blankly up at her, simply waiting for the news he hadn’t let himself consider so far.

“Your father is stable for now, but we still have him in intensive care. We recommend you head home for a few hours and return when he’s able to have visitors.”

 

Stiles was still numb. It didn’t really sink in until he had climbed into his jeep and driven almost all of the way back to his house. It all started seeping in slowly at first. Relief was first, trickling into his mind like warm coffee early in the morning. Trepidation followed soon after. But it wasn’t until he reached his house, wandered vaguely towards his room, and sat down on his bed with his head in his hands that the guilt set in. It felt like his whole body was covered in a cold sweat, his pores themselves clogging up with the guilt that had seeped its way into every crevice. Stiles ran a hand through his hair, tugging unnecessarily on the shorter parts at the back of his head. With all those brushes with death came his unheedy confidence that maybe he didn’t need to be a supernatural being to be a little less destructible. He had forgotten just how easily it was to be harmed by something much less superficial. With all the fangs and the claws and the supernatural strength, Stiles had forgotten that it was what lived _inside_ of him that could do the most damage. _He_ was the problem here. He always had been. Always too weak to fight, too unstable to help, too _useless_ for anything.

 

And that was exactly how he felt in that moment. Weak, unstable and completely and utterly **useless**.

 

He flung himself off his bed, clawing at the door until it flew open. Stiles stumbled into the bathroom, blindly running the taps and splashing his face. He felt dirty with guilt and sweat and shame. The hospital had bled into his clothes, leaving that unforgettable stench of disinfectant and despair. If his memories had one smell to go with them, it would be that. Everything about it reminded him of those last few weeks he had practically lived in the hospital. All Stiles wanted to do was be rid of it. He scrubbed at his hands in vain, unable to get the feeling of grime off of them. He turned to the shower without thinking, just going on pure instinct to _get that smell off_.

 

He knew he would crack one day. He just didn’t realise how bad it would be. Stiles had assumed his breakdown would only include his bed and maybe a soaked pillow before he simply got up the next morning and went about life just like he had before. But there, sitting under the spray of the scalding shower, water mixing with salty tears, he realised just how broken he had become. So broken in fact that it might take a little more than one night in his bed to fix him. He may never be fixed. From the feelings gushing out of him and following the trail down the drain, he decided that this had been a long time coming. He had pushed away the people he was trying to protect in order to protect them, but now all he could think about was how idiotic that had been. They went on and on about trying to act like a pack, and there he was being the biggest hypocrite of them all. His mother had always told him that keeping everything bottled up would always come back to bite him in the ass. God he just missed her _so much_. She would know what to do if she were there. She’d pull him out of the stupid shower with it’s stupidly hot water and order him to change out of his sopping wet clothes, probably scold him for dripping on her clean carpet as she did so. A sob escaped his lips and Stiles pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them.

 

He didn’t jump when he felt someone place a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t even bother to glance up, he just knew it was Derek. Of course it was. Out of everyone in the pack, he was always the one to stare for just a second longer after Stiles reassured them he was fine. Derek was always the one who would climb through his window in the middle of the night when Stiles was feel exceptionally low. They wouldn’t speak, but Derek would sit beside his bed and lean his head back against the mattress. His presence was always enough to calm Stiles’ racing heart and out of control breaths. They didn’t speak of it when they would next see each other, but Stiles had always had a suspicion that Derek’s visits were as much for his own benefit as they were for Stiles’.

 

The hand ran from his shoulder up his neck, and it was a surprise when Derek’s usual body heat wasn’t noticeable against the water. Stiles blinked the water from his eyes and saw how red raw his skin was. It hadn’t taken away that grimy feeling though. Choking back another sob, Stiles just looked up at the man outside the glass. Derek had forgone his usual leather jacket, and was dressed in a simple grey t shirt and black jeans. He seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second before removing his hand from Stiles’ neck and twisting one of the taps. The water turned colder, and a shiver wracked through Stiles’ body. It was cold compared to what it had been before, but it was probably the usual temperature of his normal showers. His chill didn’t last long though, because before he knew it Derek was kicking off his shoes, placing his phone on the counter beside the sink and slipping into the shower. He sank down beside Stiles and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, bringing him in close. Stiles fought weakly at first, protesting about Derek getting wet, but he couldn’t deny himself the firm chest and comforting hold of the Alpha. He curled into Derek’s side, hands fisted in his drenched t shirt and pressed his face into the man’s neck. Derek didn’t say anything for a long time, simply let Stiles fall apart in his arms.

 

The water turned colder, but neither of them noticed. Stiles’ tears finally slowed and his head cleared enough for him to think through the fogginess. Had it been any other person, he would have pushed them away at that point and declared he was going to be okay, but he had a feeling Derek wouldn’t put up with that. “I-” His throat was unbearably dry, which was strange coming from someone who had been sitting under a stream of constant water for a while. Stiles swallowed, and tried to continue. His face was still pressed into the crook of Derek’s neck, lips brushing his pulse point every time he tried to talk. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Derek shifted, his arm around Stiles’ shoulder squeezing just a little tighter. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” The confession caught Stiles by surprise, but he didn’t take it back. It felt good, in a way, to get it out, let another human being know just what he was feeling. Derek didn’t say anything, though Stiles took the gentle caress of his thumb on his hip bone as permission to continue. “I haven’t know what I’m doing since she left.” Derek pressed his nose into Stiles’ hair at that. “I’m so lost Derek and I didn’t even realise it until now. I’ve been stumbling through, pretending I know what I’m doing but I just-” He took a calming breath. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Derek stiffened. “I can’t keep doing this to him. How can I keep trying to choose between my family and my dad?” Suddenly Stiles was being tugged onto the Alpha’s lap and Derek had his nose pressed against the hollow just below Stiles’ ear.

“Family.” Derek mumbled the word into Stiles’ skin so quietly he almost didn’t catch it, but it was there. Stiles wound his arms around Derek’s neck and just held on. He wasn’t particularly comfortable, but in the moment he felt a little less lost.

“The pack is my family, _you_ are my family,” Stiles corrected himself and Derek made a noise at the back of his throat that sounded almost content.

 

They were silent again for a while until it was Derek who broke it. “We’ll find you, you know? Every time you think you’re lost, we’ll find you.” He paused. “I thought there was no hope after the fire.” Stiles pressed himself a little closer, knowing physical actions were more comforting to Derek, and he was pretty sure it was all he could manage in his emotionally drained state. “I gave up. They were all gone, and it had been my fault. It was my actions that brought about the death of my family, and I couldn’t live with the guilt. If it wasn’t for Laura..” Derek didn’t need to finish that, Stiles had a pretty good idea how it would end.

“You didn’t though,” he stated quietly. Derek shook his head, tightening the arms around Stiles and letting said boy rest his head on his shoulder.

“Laura reminded me that it wasn’t all lost. I still had her, and my family wouldn’t have wanted me to give up so easily. I wasn’t raised that way. It took a while, but I managed to pull myself out of the depth of self loathing enough to realise I couldn’t let the guilt run my life.” Silence. The water cascading down the pair was now ice cold, and Stiles shivered involuntarily. “You still have him Stiles, he’s still alive.”

“But for how long?” Stiles whispered, his voice cracking. They were silent again. Stiles let Derek’s words sink in, mulling them over slowly, his foggy brain fighting back against any deep thinking.

 

“He wouldn’t want me to give up,” Stiles finally said, the feeling of determination starting to crawl its way back into his mind, smothering the lingering guilt and pity he had. It didn’t get rid of it, but for now he could concentrate on that pure _will_ to not let his father go that easily. Derek loosened his grip, letting Stiles slide back into his space beside him. He turned though so they were facing each other, knees pressed together and Derek’s back against a pane of glass. Stiles stared into the familiar green eyes of the person opposite, a person he owed so much more than his life. “I’m scared though,” he whispered, not breaking eye contact. The water dripped off his eyelashes and down his cheeks, but Stiles ignored it. “I don’t want to be alone.” Derek leaned forward and slid his fingers between Stiles’. They rested upon their knees, tangled together, drawing Stiles’ eyes to them. Derek ran his thumb in calming patterns across Stiles’ palm, waiting until Stiles looked back up again before he spoke.

“I won’t let you be alone.” The honesty in Derek’s usually so closed off expression makes Stiles’ breath catch in his throat.

 

He knew, then, that he was fixable. It would take longer than one night, maybe he wouldn’t be complete again for a long time. But he knew with all his heart that Derek would be there to make sure that one day he could look back at this and know he hadn’t been weak, he hadn’t been unstable and he was never completely and utterly useless. He could protect the ones he loved, and he could do it without losing himself along the way.

 


End file.
